


Starting Today

by Amazoncowgirl01



Series: First Time for Everything [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:59:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazoncowgirl01/pseuds/Amazoncowgirl01
Summary: The epic Ryan vs Ryan playoff hatesex hookup turns into something warm and fluffy.





	Starting Today

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i never told a lie to you, so why would i start tonight?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934556) by [brandonsaad (createadisaster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad). 



> I read brandonsaad's incredible story on the way to work today and spent the rest of the day thinking that I could never write anything as hot, articulate, and smart as their story. But then I wrote this anyway, even though again, it's not anywhere as good.
> 
> This is written as a sequel to that story, so definitely read that one first. Joey is Ryan Johansen, and Ryan is Ryan Kesler. 
> 
> Also, Between Two Zambonis is a real thing and pretty hilarious. You can see one of the episodes at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glwhs-ezjxg. 
> 
> Lastly I just updated this to reflect Ryan Johansen's injury on 5/19, poor guy. The rest of the playoff results here are imaginary.

Ryan knows he's fucked when the first thing he thinks about, the morning after the Ducks lose Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final, is how much better it would be if Joey was in his bed. How Joey's easy, youthful bravado and deep sweetness would take some of this weight off Ryan's chest. How Joey might look at him with concern but not with pity, and how he wouldn't hesitate to be whatever Ryan needed in that moment. Even on their first night together, Ryan had found himself calling Joey 'pretty' and 'lovely' and 'baby' and totally failing to make it taunting the way he usually did. And Joey had opened up like a flower under the praise, letting his desire to please overcome his desire to snark, at least for the moment. 

Really, Ryan should have caught this whole thing a lot earlier if he was paying any attention. It only took that first night to make a liar of himself, when he said he wouldn't change the way he played hockey for anybody. The truth is, while he was just as aggressive with his stick and skating during their next game together, he couldn't find it in himself to needle Joey with "princess" and "sweetheart" or any of the other endearments he'd usually use to drive guys insane on the ice. He refused to think about it too closely, and focused on his physical game, and to be fair, he was all over the other Predators with his sarcastic "pretty princess" comments. He loved that feeling, seeing the other guy lose it, but he realized he didn't want to see Joey losing it that way. 

He'd spent every night of the series with Joey, even a few nights where they'd just made out and curled up together, exhausted. It wasn't exactly the hatesex they'd started with, but it filled some need in Ryan, and warmed his chest in a way that made him not want to ask questions. Plus, when they did fuck, it was unbelievable, hotter than anything he'd ever experienced. So yeah, not something he was going to get all touchy feely about when it more than met his needs.

By the time the Senators shocked everyone by actually winning the Stanley Cup, Ryan was nursing a torn rotator cuff, a colorful selection of muscle-deep bruises, and the exhaustion that hits when you're still playing hockey in June, but not winning. Joey had been at home for a month already, recovering from emergency leg surgery after the series. They had exchanged a few texts since the Ducks had beaten the Preds and moved on, just on little things, funny stuff they came across in a regular day, or whatever. 

Now, Ryan rolls onto his back in bed, giving himself a break about being emo for a while. Hey, losing the Cup hurts, and Ryan is more than willing to spend a little time staring at the ceiling and feeling morose before he gets back up and faces the world. He just wishes Joey was there to do it with him, curled into his arms. Maybe waking Ryan up with a blow job, looking up at him with his mouth on his cock and his big eyes, waiting to be called 'good boy'. Maybe turning over for Ryan, or even better, fighting him on it for a bit, making Ryan work for it, to make Joey feel wrapped in pleasure enough to beg Ryan to take him. He'd been shocked by the depth of feeling Joey's surrender woke in him. He was still shocked by the empty ache that lingered in his chest after the series had ended and the Preds had left the stadium in shame and silence, without a word to Ryan.

There's a reason Ryan connects so deeply with Joey, though, and it's partly because they share the same spark and fight; the same willingness to go to battle with life. And there's only so much moping Ryan can handle before he either gives in and turns on daytime TV and really digs into hating himself, or finds his fighting spirit and gets his ass out of bed. 

He opts for the latter, if only because he has to piss. Once out of the bathroom and feeling remotely more human, he braves a look at his phone. Ugh, that's a shitload of 'you'll get 'em next year' and 'sorry, bro' texts from his friends and family. The same friends and family Joey said should be ashamed to watch Ryan play, which still makes him laugh a little bit, even today. 

There's one from Joey, though, and it doesn't mention anything about the Cup, or the loss, or Joey's injury, or anything at all actually, except "I start training in a week. Know anywhere I could stay in the OC while I'm there?"

Apparently Joey's decided to do his surgery rehab and offseason training in Anaheim, for some reason, not like there aren't great guys back east and closer to home. But whatever, after his emo morning Ryan tells himself that getting laid is the answer to all his problems and all he really needs anyway. So he texts back "Yeah, stay at mine" along with his address and "when are you getting in?" He's not asking when Joey's leaving to fly home, but doesn't examine that too closely. Plenty of time for that down the road. 

***********

Ryan's not about to pick Joey up at the airport; that shit is way too "Love Actually" for him (and yes, he does know that movie, he has a sister, thank you, and Love Actually is the least horrible of the romcoms she's made him watch. Don't even get him started on Serendipity, ugh.)

But he does make sure to get his apartment cleaned and his fridge stocked and the nice sheets put on his bed. No way in hell is Joey staying in the guest room, and the prospect of having him in his bed is making him way happier than he thinks it maybe should. Ryan thinks he should be maintaining a cool, snarky, detached attitude, which has never been a problem for him before, since that's basically the core of his personality, as anyone who's watched his "Between Two Zambonis" show can attest. He thinks 'detached' probably went out the window the first time Joey begged Ryan to fuck him, and any coolness was eradicated by the post-coital kiss on the forehead and the first night Ryan spent with Joey snuggling against his chest. 

It's just past 7pm by the time Joey bustles in with a lot more shit than Ryan would expect for a short trip. The kid's got two huge duffels, a small roller case, and a flashy Louis Vuitton satchel that screams 'rich hockey player with too much cash and too little to spend it on.' He's a little flushed, maybe from carrying all his crap in the door, but maybe also related to the shy little glances he keeps throwing Ryan's way. Fuck, Ryan's dying here. This is their first time seeing each other outside of their playoff hotel room bubble - are they supposed to hug? Fist bump? Jesus, what do you do with a surprisingly sweet fuck buddy who likes rough sex and makes your chest hurt when they're gone? 

Ryan goes for a hug, but throws in a couple of stinging back slaps to keep the bro edge there and make sure he's not broadcasting his suddenly soft and squishy heart. He goes to pull back but Joey holds on, digging his face into Ryan's shoulder and breathing deeply. 

"I missed you, Kesler," he breathes, just above a whisper. Ryan's heart is pounding in his chest and he's getting hard already and goddammit this kid has him wrapped around his little finger.

"Ryan." 

"What?" Joey lifts his head, looking up with his big eyes, the softest Ryan's ever seen them.

"Call me Ryan."

********************************************

Epilogue - 3 months later

It's the end of August, and Ryan and Joey are lying in bed on at 6pm on a Tuesday night, sheets kicked down around their ankles, covered in come, and holding each other's pinky fingers because it's too hot to hold hands right now, much less cuddle like they usually do. 

They've spent their summer training, hard, because it's what they do and what they love. But they've also spent the summer cooking meals together, going to Angels games, hanging out with Ryan's teammates who are still in town, sharing a bathroom, and basically living an ordinary life together. Their first night together was 99% hot sex and 1% fluff, but now things are a lot more even, and as much as Ryan would keep Joey in bed and penetrated 24/7 if he could, he also loves sharing the regular life stuff that everyone has to deal with. 

They've studiously avoided talking about the future beyond the next day or week, and Ryan's beginning to feel a bone-deep ache at the thought of Joey leaving. Of waking up without him, day after day. Ryan will miss Joey's mouth, yeah, but he'll also miss his laugh, the way he pushes and challenges Ryan all the time, makes Ryan better and stronger. Ryan's thinking, hazily, about all this, when Joey's phone rings. 

Joey pales when he sees the screen, sees David Poile's name, the Preds GM. Everyone knows what to expect when your GM calls you in the middle of summer, and Ryan can see the wheels turning in Joey's mind as he realizes his life is about to change. 

To his credit, his voice is perfectly steady when he picks up the phone. 

"Hi, David." 

"No, no problem, now is a good time to talk."

Ryan watches the expressions on Joey's face morph from anxious, to surprised, to happiness, and then suddenly to a scarily blank expression, all while listening to his GM talk on the other end."

"Uh huh, I understand. Thank you for the call David. I'm glad I had the opportunity to play for you. Bye."

Joey puts his phone down slowly on the bedside table, face still perfectly neutral and still. Ryan's heart rate is going crazy as he's thinking about which teams needed a hotshot forward and where Joey might be going. Shit, weren't the Habs in the market? That's about as far from Anaheim as you can get and still play in the NHL. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He's not ready to let Joey go. This cocky kid from Vancouver has somehow become essential to Ryan's life, a part of him, and the prospect of being parted rouses Ryan's fighting spirit. 

He's hanging onto this one, goddammit. No one has ever made him feel the way Joey does, whether they're frantically fucking and whispering filth to each other, or whether they're stealing each other's popcorn on a Thursday afternoon because they're bored and nothing's on. 

He's turning to Joey, getting ready to spill his heart or his guts, when he sees the corner of Joey's mouth lift. 

"So, uh, it turns out I'm gonna need a place to stay in Anaheim for a while. You know, since I'll be playing for the Ducks and all. Any recommendations?"

Ryan's on top of Joey before he realizes he's moving, kissing his neck, whispering "thank fuck." He takes a deep breath with his faced pressed into Joey's neck, smelling them both on Joey, smelling home, and looks him in the eye. "You know where you belong."

And Joey, the asshole, crooks a smile and says "Beg me." And Ryan does.

The End. 

_And then they spend the rest of their lives together, get married, play hockey, having smoking hot sex, and loving the hell out of each other._


End file.
